Your “simple” suggestions, as you like to call them, fall around me,
They drift softly to the ground and melt before my feet,
My aura illuminates the hostile home in which you hoped I’d freeze.
All was supposed:
That which cared for,
That which loved,
That which only was doing the best for.
Now I feel the ice crackling under my weight as I march into the night,
Staring at the wild wind whipping rouge,
The bright-eyed glimmer stealing full moon powers,
Gripping mittens release their hold,
Venturing further into the mystic,
Encountering an awe of both delight & peace.
The sticking snow reveals paths taken,
Of light & dark,
Love & pain,
Young & old.
But “simply” suggesting I know nothing shows the nothing you so simply desire,
For never have you sought to understand anything but what you hoped to find.